We all make mistakes; we all try things that don’t go well at first. Sometimes those false steps are just the beginning on the path to lifelong love. When I was a kid, I climbed out of the window of Hebrew school in order to avoid class (it was on the first floor). Other times, our missteps mark the end of a brief interest never to be revisited, like neuroscience class I took in college. The ability to pick oneself up and get back in the race is often predicated on an individual’s grit and resilience – amazing qualities, to be sure – but it also often requires a little help and understanding from the people around us.
One of my favorite stories that illustrates this point happened just up the street from us about 90 years ago. A young woman named Ella Jane Fitzgerald enters into a new kind of competition called “amateur night” at the Apollo Theater in Harlem. Story goes that she entered the contest on a dare and was going to dance until she thought the dancers who went before her were too good so she opted to sing instead. She was understandably nervous, and by her own admission, the first few bars she sang were a disaster. The rowdy crowd started to boo and jeer when the famous MC Ralph Cooper ran onstage and shushed them, he said something to the effect of “this little lady has a gift to give us, lets give her a second to get it out of the box.” The audience settled, Ella regrouped, started singing, and began her career as the queen of jazz and the first lady of song. Without that little moment of kindness from Cooper or the courage to keep going after a failure, we would never have gotten the amazing gift she had to share with us all.
From rabbis to jazz singers, we all need help coming back from mistakes, overcoming failures, and succeeding in areas we feel a little shaky. Often, that help comes from the kindness of strangers, which is important for all of us, to be sure. However, the Torah, unsurprisingly, wants to codify the path to trying again in law and ritual. In the parashah we read this morning, we are told, “When a person unwittingly incurs guilt in regard to any of the LORD’s commandments about things not to be done, and does one of them,” they should offer a sacrifice in the mishkan to make things right (Leviticus 4:2). The entire system that is being set up has modes of reparation built into it from the beginning. Whether unintentionally, as we read about now, or even on purpose (like Rabbi Cosgrove discussed last week), God knows we will make mistakes; we will have false starts; and we will need a way to recover.
I discussed this with some of the teens that run our synagogue’s food pantry, and one of them pointed out that one needs to look at Vayikra in the context of the parshiot that come before it. Claire pointed out that last week, we read about the attributers of God’s forgiveness and of Moses standing up for the Israelites (like an MC at the Apollo). She wondered: So why do we need all these sacrifices? Why does everyone have to offer sheep and turtledoves? Can’t they just rely on God’s mercy and Moses intercession? Claire, this is a great question! How does bringing an animal to the priests for slaughter help anyone?
The 13th century commentary “Sefer haHinukh” says that the purpose of the sacrifice here is about giving yourself something physical to do. He says we know that a simple declaration isn’t enough for a person’s heart to feel cleansed – one must engage in action. . . . As anyone who has tried to repair a relationship with a loved one knows, . . . words are usually not enough. Action – even symbolic action – is needed to show others and ourselves that we are ready to do better next time.
Perhaps the secret of the sacrifices is that they are public. As I climb the steps to priests bringing my sheep to atone for whatever I’ve done wrong, I pass by others making the same trip for similar reasons. One could imagine two Israelites standing in line with their offerings: “So what’d you do? Forgot separate your tithes? Ouch, I hate when that happens. Me? Oh, I didn’t realize this shirt I was wearing was made from linen and wool. . . .”
Or maybe the cantor and I try to avoid eye contact as we pass by so we can pretend we didn’t see one another. We can take solace from the fact of the failure of others. When I tell the story of climbing out a window to avoid Hebrew school to the kids here, I hope they hear, “Its okay if you don’t love this, its okay if you struggle.”
Another idea was beautifully illustrated by our bar mitzvah today. Ian, you said that the sacrifices are meant to foster connection. They remind us that we need to look out for other people and sometimes that means giving up something of ours. It might be our time; it might be our ego; it might be some of our resources. We should remember Leviticus and the idea that being a part of something larger than ourselves often entails sacrificing something for the good of the group or other individuals in the group.
The Torah also understood that not every issue could be fixed right away with an offering. We are going to celebrate Pesach next week, and one of my favorite holidays is Pesach sheni, “second Passover.” This was a day set aside a month after Pesach for anyone who was ritually impure during the original holiday.
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This lesson of giving people a chance, or a second chance, despite their faults is important for us now. Throughout the past year, it has been important to cut others a little slack. We have spoken time and time again about how everyone is hurting, everyone is in a hard place, and we need to be kind to one another. As we begin to dream about what an end to this era might be, some people are dealing with very real loss that can’t be solved with a shot in the arm. Others will grapple with “pandemic projects” unfinished and relationships left untended to for a year. As things begin to reopen – safely, please God – and people start to interact a little more, we are going to need to remember: There will be some false starts. It will take people a little time to get comfortable being out and about again; not everyone is ready for it. . . . It is important that we offer kindness and understanding to those around us – and to ourselves as well.
As we do, Vayikra provides us with a nice model. Haven’t heard from someone enough this past year? When they finally call, that is like their offering: They are asking to be given another shot at the relationship. Make plans with someone and then realize you aren’t comfortable yet? That’s okay, apologize and set up your Pesach sheni, your redo, in a month. We need this lesson now and always because we all make mistakes; we all should try new things and experiences we might not be good at; and we are all going to have moments where we need a redo. This happens to all of us, no matter who we are or how wise we become.
I began with a story of a singer in need of some slack, so I will close with one, too.
Toward the end of his life, Frank Sinatra slowed down a little, but his ol’ blue eyes were still bright. He toured and performed, but the people around him knew that he was starting to slip. Comedian Tom Dreesen, who opened for Sinatra, says that by the time he was 78, people came to see Frank in order to say goodbye. Everyone wondered when he would lay down the mic. One night, in an arena of some 20,000 people, Frank Sinatra completely forgot the words to one of the songs he had been singing for 60 years. The orchestra didn’t know so they kept playing and Sinatra is just standing on stage whispering into the mic “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry . . .” eventually the musicians realize what is going on and they slowly stop playing leaving the entire arena in eerie silence. Sinatra has tears in his eyes and starts to put the mic down, Dreeson is ready to come on the stage and thank the singer for an amazing career when someone from the back stands up and shouts, “That’s alright, Frank! That’s alright, because we love you,” and starts applauding. Soon the whole audience is clapping. Sinatra keeps the mic and cues the band to play the next song. He sings his heart out, nails every note and every word like he was a kid again. When finishes the crowd goes absolutely wild, but Sinatra points out to the back and says, “I love you, too, pal.” He toured for another two years after that.
The kindness that we can show to others by standing up for them – by giving them a second chance, by letting them make mistakes and make amends – is one of the holiest acts we can do for someone. It helps them move forward, feel supported, realize their talents and passions, and – like you said, Ian – it helps them feel connected. We are all going to be the person who needs a second chance and the person who needs to offer it. Sometimes we need to be the MC guarding others from an unruly crowd. Other times we must be the priest accepting someone’s offer to do better next time. We might need to be the sinner next in line who knows what it’s like to fail, and can offer empathy. Or we might just need to be the fan shouting, “That’s alright! It’s alright because we love you.”